


church bells

by featherx



Series: requests [6]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23194822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/featherx/pseuds/featherx
Summary: Hubert’s hair looks far more disheveled than its usual, artfully-wavy self, and Claude does his best not to snicker too loudly at the sight. Evidently he fails, as Hubert shoots him a cold look. “What.”“Oh, nothing. You’ve just—” Claude gestures intentionally vaguely at his head. “You’ve got horns.”“Is that a disease?” Hubert carefully ventures.
Relationships: Claude von Riegan/Hubert von Vestra, Linhardt von Hevring/Claude von Riegan, Linhardt von Hevring/Claude von Riegan/Hubert von Vestra, Linhardt von Hevring/Hubert von Vestra
Series: requests [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1388335
Comments: 9
Kudos: 148





	church bells

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eeveepkmnfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeveepkmnfan/gifts).



> prompt: linhardt/claude/hubert, underlying theme of faith magic  
> thanks for requesting!! ❤

Claude hums. There’s a certain ambiance to the cathedral, he’ll give it that—nice and quiet, with only the occasional ring of the bells every hour. And when he picks the time just right (or rather, visits at the dead of darkness), there are hardly any people to fill the place up with bothersome chatter. Perfect for a bit of thinking time to himself.

Or it would be, if the place doesn’t smell like something gone rotten. He tilts his head, peers into the shadows of the cathedral corners, the darkness of the old wooden pews. Should he speak up? No, whoever is here will hardly respond, and they’ve probably seen him by now anyway—Claude hasn’t exactly tried to hide himself. Well, no matter. If they won’t bother him, he won’t bother them. That’s how it’s always gone.

And then, from behind— _footsteps._

The monastery staff will have his head for wandering around late at night, after everything that’s happened lately—Claude doesn’t think before diving beneath one of the pews, just as the light of a lantern licks at the ends of the shadows by the entrance. It’s too faint to make out the face of whoever is holding it, though—

“Do you _mind?_ ” a voice suddenly hisses, and Claude bites his tongue in an effort to keep from yelping in surprise. Beside him, the shadows seem to melt into the shape of… oh, of _course._

“Hey, Hubert,” Claude greets under his breath, inching to the side. This close, he can pinpoint exactly what smells like rot and decay—Hubert’s hands, the tips of his bone-white fingers just barely visible in the darkness. “Fancy seeing you here. Absolutely did not see this coming at all.”

Hubert sighs. It’s cold enough at this time of the year that his breath is visible to the both of them. “Get out.”

“Come on, we’re hiding from a common enemy.”

“I was hiding from _you,_ if you must know.”

Claude mulls that over. “I can’t quite decide between feeling insulted or feeling honored. What made the great Hubert hide from me?”

“Your very presence was enough to set all my danger bells ringing,” Hubert grumbles. Claude doesn’t need light to know he’s rolling his eyes right now. “Now get out, before I make you. The miasma you are smelling is not for show.”

 _Che._ The light from the lantern is coming closer, creeping at the last row of the church pews now, and Claude’s sure he’ll be caught in a matter of seconds if he leaves now. “Surely you can share your little burrow for another gracious minute or two? You’re no stranger to hiding away, are you?”

There’s an unexpected pause, and in the darkness all Claude can really see is the glint of gold in Hubert’s eyes. “No,” he murmurs, at length, “I suppose I am not.”

Before Claude can think of how else to respond to that, light floods his vision and illuminates Hubert’s face with far too much intensity than necessary—Claude’s never seen him this close before, and all he can really think (apart from the panic bells going off in his head) is, _Wow, his nose looks even longer up close._ “How long have you two been there?” a voice from above asks, dryly.

Claude fixes his gaze on a random spot just below Hubert’s only visible eye. “That’s not Seteth, is it?”

Hubert stares up at the light, then sighs and shakes his head. “Linhardt. Of course. Who else would come here in the dead of night…”

“You and whoever this is, obviously.” Linhardt none-too-gently nudges Claude’s back with his foot. “Oh, never mind, I’d recognize that terrible posture anywhere. So were you two having a secret rendezvous here? In the cathedral, of all places? I always figured you’d burn up if either of you stepped in here.”

“Are you calling me unfaithful now, Linhardt?” Claude asks, forcing some of his usual cheer in his voice as he slides out from under the church pew, stretching his arms a little. He had never truly appreciated the outside of a church pew until now.

Linhardt gives him an unimpressed look. Claude’s never really spoken to him before—mostly because the other student never really spoke to anyone, period—but he wonders if he should be warier of him now, all things considered. All that sleepiness had to be there to cover _something_ up, right? “Well, I’ve never seen you in any faith magic seminars. And Hubert here—” He glances at the man in question, looking more amused than anything. “He told the professor themselves that they’d die by his hand if they forced him to study it.”

Hubert dusts his pants off. “Simply telling them the truth. I see no gain in lying, after all.” His hair looks far more disheveled than its usual, artfully-wavy self, and Claude does his best not to snicker too loudly at the sight. Evidently he fails, as Hubert shoots him a cold look. “What.”

“Oh, nothing. You’ve just—” Claude gestures intentionally vaguely at his head. “You’ve got horns.”

“Is that a disease?” Hubert carefully ventures.

The light shakes, and they both turn to look at Linhardt, who’s slapped his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. “Um, nothing,” he manages, at Hubert’s affronted gaze, “it’s nothing. What are you two doing here anyway? Certainly not to pray to the goddess, right?”

When Hubert doesn’t respond right away, Claude shakes his head. “It’s nice and quiet in here. Even now, it sounds like Sylvain’s throwing a party on the second floor of the dorms.” He yawns, half for show and half out of genuine exhaustion. “If I don’t get to catch a few winks here, I’d at least get some thinking done, yeah?”

“The quiet, yes,” Hubert mutters. “This place is also coated in faith magic, which is a natural counter to the dark. It helps with training my resistance to it.”

“Oh. Boring reasons, then.” Linhardt sets the lantern atop one of the seats, glancing between the both of them. “I’m here because I figured there must be some holy artifacts for the taking. Well, researching. Both.” He stares off into space for a moment, then nods. “But mostly for the taking.”

“You’re…” Claude stares at him. “Here to steal holy artifacts.”

Linhardt blinks. “What, like it’s hard? I’ve been visiting every other night. But it’s tricky, because I got caught once, and so now they’ve heightened security. Still, it’s easy as long as you memorize the guard shifts.”

Hubert hardly looks surprised. “Have you found any worth your interest, then?”

“No,” Linhardt sighs. “I’ll just have to keep trying. But now that the three of us are here… well, it must look like we’re plotting something suspicious, aren’t we.” He waves a hand over the lantern, and the fire flickers out within a blink—in the next second, Linhardt holds his palm up, a ball of light floating atop. “There,” he says, looking endearingly satisfied with himself. “No one should see us now.”

Claude steps nearer to peer at the light, while Hubert recoils in what looks like actual disgust. “This is faith magic, isn’t it? But I’ve never seen it used in such a way. What is this spell even derived from?”

“Aura. A much weaker and non-combative version, of course, but the base formula for it is present.” Linhardt drops his hand back down to his side, and the light ball remains hovering in mid-air in the middle of the three of them. “ _And_ it’s invisible to all but the caster and their allies, so if anyone comes by, they shouldn’t spot us immediately. We’ll at least have time to duck back under these pews, if we must.”

“Gotta admit, I never thought faith magic had much use outside of healing and some of the other offensive spells.” Claude steps back, shooting Hubert a curious glance. The man absolutely refuses to so much as look at the light, which is almost comical. “You’re good at all kinds of stuff, aren’t you, Linhardt?”

Linhardt blinks at him slowly, as if still processing the words, then instantly turns away the moment Claude spots color rising to his cheeks. “I, ah. Of course. T… Thank you.”

“Aw, are you shy? Do you want more compliments?” Claude grins. “Everyone thinks all you do is sleep all day, but you’re actually really smart, aren’t you? Saving your strength so it all goes to your brain?”

“That’s enough,” Hubert mumbles. “Before he explodes.”

“Shut up,” Linhardt grumbles, smacking Hubert’s arm. Hubert draws back like he’s been burnt. “I-It—ahem. It’s not very hard. It just takes a bit of practice and study.” Looking more like his usual pale self now, Linhardt gives Claude an assessing look. “I could teach you, if you want. Magic tends to come easier if you were born with a natural affinity for it, but the basic skills are learnable for everyone.”

“Oh, no, no. Like, genuinely, _please,_ no.” Claude steps back and raises his hands up for good measure. “I like to, uh. Admire… excellency… from a distance. A very safe distance.”

Linhardt looks disappointed. “Oh. You’re another Hubert after all.”

“Excuse me?” Hubert huffs.

“You both seem to think faith magic is about faith in the goddess,” Linhardt points out. “But this modified Aura spell is hardly at all connected to that. Most spells aren’t. If you tried hard enough, you don’t even need to believe in the goddess at all to practice faith magic.” And then, to Claude’s mild surprise, his lips curve into a smile so rarely seen in the day. “Magic is much more interesting than some old weapons, don’t you think? There’s always something new to figure out.”

Claude and Hubert share a look—if it can even be called _sharing,_ as much as it is _accidentally looking to the side the same time the person beside you does,_ because that’s essentially what happens. “The Church always explained it as faith in the goddess,” Hubert finally says, giving both Claude and Linhardt suspicious looks. “Some books challenged the notion, but I was never too interested to learn more.”

“Well, you should be.” Linhardt steps forward and grabs Hubert’s wrist—Hubert jerks back like a cornered animal, and Claude instantly backs away as well. If there’s anything he’d rather not be a part of, it’s unwanted physical contact. “Why don’t you just try it out, for once? You don’t need faith in the goddess. Faith in the person you’re healing, faith in your allies… faith in yourself, most of all.”

And then—Claude doesn’t know how he knows, but when he sees Linhardt close his eyes and his palm begin to pulse a gentle white light, somehow he can tell it’s healing magic.

Hubert attempts to pull away again, but there’s less strength in the action, and Linhardt holds fast anyway. In the next second, the Heal spell is gone, leaving only the faint residue of Linhardt’s magic in the air. Claude takes a tentative sniff—it smells like Angelica tea, he thinks, and old books in the library. “Like that,” Linhardt murmurs, slowly releasing Hubert’s wrist. “Even if you’re not injured, a Heal spell feels nice, doesn’t it? I heard it can heal invisible wounds, too.”

“Invisible wounds?” Hubert quietly prompts. His normal voice is already low, but even now in the silence of the cathedral, Claude can just barely hear him.

“Wounds you may not want others to know about.” Linhardt extends his arm, pulling the sleeve up slightly. “Now you try. There’s basic theory in healing, but you don’t need any of that, really. Just focus on healing, and you should be fine.”

“You’d make a terrible teacher,” Claude observes.

Hubert looks down at his hands, and for a moment Claude remembers what they had just smelled of—rot and decay, miasma and mire and all the other dark magic spells he probably knows. How does that work? If faith and dark magic tend to cancel each other out, is it really so easy to practice them both? Claude knows Lysithea can, but Lysithea also happens to be a magical genius, so she’s an outlier and irrelevant here. Hubert, on the other hand…

Slowly, hesitantly, he touches the inside of Linhardt’s wrist with the very tips of his gloved fingers. “Good,” Linhardt says, looking up at Hubert expectantly. “Now just focus.”

Seconds tick by in silence. Claude counts them by the beats of his heart, loud in the quiet, until Hubert finally rips his hands away and shoves them in his uniform pockets. “Pointless.”

Linhardt frowns. “What? No. Hubert—”

“I already told you. Faith magic and I have always been at odds with each other,” Hubert practically _snarls,_ the undercurrent of fury in his voice sharp and cutting. Linhardt’s eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to speak, but Hubert is already shaking his head and walking away, fast enough that he’s already stepped out of the light and melted back into the darkness by the time Linhardt calls his name again.

Footsteps—and then they fade into the quiet once more.

“That went well,” Claude remarks.

Linhardt sighs, slumping onto the pew beside him—Claude follows, taking the seat in front. “I thought I could change his mind about faith magic… he’s always avoiding it and all. I figured it must’ve been because everyone thinks it’s connected to the goddess, but…”

He trails off, and Claude frowns at the dejection on his face. “Hey, come on, don’t get so down. Maybe he’s just not cut out for faith magic? Like how you’re not cut out for, uh, brawling or something.”

“Perhaps,” Linhardt mutters. “But he always seems so closed off from the rest. And faith magic is known to be self-healing at times as well…”

“I never knew you cared about him that much.”

“He concerns me,” Linhardt allows. “And I’ve been studying a bit of dark magic recently, so he’s made for good research. But I want to help him as he’s helped me.” He pouts. Annoyingly enough, it’s sort of cute. Claude ignores this. “Well, I tried. How about you? I’ve never seen you do magic before, but it’s worth a try, don’t you think?”

Claude rolls his eyes. “I’m not one for that sort of stuff. Magic—it’s always seemed kinda, you know, unreliable to me? Might be ‘cause it’s so intangible. At least I know my bow and arrows are always there—but magic feels like it could be there one second and then gone in the next.”

Linhardt tilts his head. “Fair enough. But just to try…”

“I’m telling you, it won’t work.” On a whim, Claude reaches over to grab Linhardt’s wrist, more to fluster him than anything—and surprises himself when something in his chest _tugs_ and his palm grows warm from some sort of heat. Light flares from his hand—

For all of one second, before it immediately peters out into nothing. But there’s something in the air—Almyran pine needles, he realizes, and the aroma of a multitude of spices mixed together, the smell always present in his mother’s kitchen.

“Won’t work?” Linhardt repeats, drawing his hand away. When Claude looks up, doing his best to not look as stunned as he feels, there’s a little smile on Linhardt’s face, one that Claude suddenly, desperately wants to see again. “You remind me of Hubert, you know,” Linhardt muses, leaning back and bouncing the ball of light between his hands. “You both dislike blind faith in the goddess. I suppose I can agree with that…”

Claude stares down at his hand. That… hadn’t just happened, had it? It had only been for a second, and he hadn’t even been concentrating, so it couldn’t have… “Hey, get Hubert back here,” he says, standing up. “If I can do it, then that guy definitely can!”

He may be no stranger to hiding away, but Claude isn’t about to let him _keep_ being overly familiar with escaping. Besides—if faith magic could heal invisible wounds, maybe it’s worth both of their time and effort.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading (❁´◡`❁) if you liked this, check out [this tweet](https://twitter.com/featherxs/status/1239788477807349760)!
> 
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